


Strike Three

by vials



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: (some of it anyway), F/M, Missing Scene, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-12
Updated: 2017-05-12
Packaged: 2018-10-30 20:16:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10884156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vials/pseuds/vials
Summary: Alone in her hotel room, Vesper can't help remember a strange conversation with Yusef not all that long ago. Knowing she's now involved too deeply to back out, she wonders what's worse: trusting her instincts with the knowledge that if she's wrong somebody will die, or pushing on in the hope that her treachery won't lead to deaths anyway?





	Strike Three

The one thing that Vesper Lynd could say about herself with one hundred per cent certainty was that she was not an idiot. She never had been, she hoped she never would be, and there sure as hell wasn’t anything about the present moment that told her she might be more susceptible to bouts of idiocy. No, despite the stress of the last few weeks, despite everything that had happened, she knew she was still Vesper Lynd, Her Majesty’s Treasury, Not An Idiot. 

It was easy to imagine, then, the fact that she sure as hell had started to feel like one was bothering her greatly. She felt bad every time the thought crossed her mind, but there it was, as plain as day, and hadn’t her mother always told her to trust her instincts? Vesper stared at herself as she tugged her earrings out, her reflection scowling back at her with an expression that had become all too familiar lately – she looked on the verge of tears. Speaking of her mother it was a look that Vesper had seen a lot on her face, too, and she wondered if her mother had had any instincts about her father or if that had blindsided her as well. Maybe, then, she shouldn’t feel so bad about the niggling doubts she had about Yusef. Perhaps the Lynd women were prone to one mistake and one mistake alone, and they worked it out and proceeded to get the hell out of there, or they ended up dead. It was a morbid thought, Vesper knew. Probably quite over-dramatic as well. She was tired, though, and she was more than a little stressed out, and now she was at the hotel with the monstrosity that was Six’s man in the adjoining suite, she was, to put it mildly, realising how utterly fucked she was.

Her hands were trembling too much to get the other earring and she stopped, clenching her fists and placing them in her lap. She could feel her bottom lip trembling and she let her eyes follow her hands, staring down at them as she twisted her fingers together. Her eyes were stinging, now, betraying her as well as they were so liable to do these days. Out of the corner of her eye she could see the flash of light at her neck: Yusef’s necklace, the one he had given her back when things had been wonderful. A promise, he had said. Tying the knot, get it? She had been so convinced he was going to propose at some point, and some part of her still was. Maybe he would have done, if he hadn’t been kidnapped. Even if he wasn’t already dead, their chances of seeing one another again were slim, and their chances of getting married all but non-existent. 

That nasty little feeling in the pit of her stomach clawed at her again and she raised a finger to her mouth, beginning to chew on it just by the nail. She remembered the way her mother used to gently slap her hand away from her mouth; her father, not so gently. She chewed harder, tugged at the skin too much, and cursed under her breath as she tasted the metallic tang on blood on her lip. She licked at it, slowly, as though still not entirely present, and then she abruptly stood up and crossed over into the bathroom that joined the two rooms. She could hear Bond kicking around in his own room, unzipping bags and unpacking. The television was on low and he seemed perfectly at home. Vesper was jealous of him, in a way. No matter how well she knew her brief, no matter how confident she was in her ability to do the job she had been sent to do, she knew she would never have his confidence or his way of simply captivating a room and making everybody assume that of course Mr Bond should be here, it would be ridiculous to think otherwise!

Vesper rolled her eyes, though more in a fond way than an annoyed one, which surprised her. She turned to the sink and twisted a tap, cautiously sticking her bleeding finger under the jet of water. It stung for a moment and then receded to a distracting ache, but Vesper was rather glad for it. She had been worried she was going to fall into a daydream; nothing like doing her hair with a throbbing finger to keep her in the present.

She could still see the necklace in the mirror and for the first time since Yusef had been taken, she wanted to take it off. The thought briefly horrified her before her brain decided it had too little energy to be horrified by itself anymore, and then it faded into a dull weight somewhere in the middle of the rest of Vesper’s thoughts. She couldn’t even pinpoint why she suddenly felt so aware of the jewellery, which until that evening had been a source of comfort to her; she would have felt more naked without it, and certainly more vulnerable. Now she was so terribly aware of how it lay around her neck, a noticeable pressure there as she moved and it moved with her. She didn’t want to liken it to a chain but suddenly the intricate little knot that had symbolised so much to her took on a twisted image – she remembered her mother’s voice again, as she had brushed Vesper’s hair or scrubbed her face in the morning: always trust your instincts, child. 

Vesper wished now more than ever that these so-called instincts of hers would kick in a little sooner than too late.

“You look like you’re enjoying yourself.”

She jumped, having not heard Bond cross his room and come to stand in the doorway of the bathroom. She looked around, her finger still under the tap, and saw from his amused smirk that he had seen her surprise.

“I’m having the time of my life,” she told him. “How could I not be? I’m in such wonderful company.”

“Of course you are,” Bond replied, the smirk turning to something more like a smile. “And to think we’ve got the foreseeable future to spend together as well. I couldn’t think of anything better. What did you do to your finger?”

The blood was no longer visible but Vesper supposed it was obvious something had happened, considering she was crouched over the sink with her finger under the tap.

“Hangnail,” she said, because it was the truth on a technicality. “Nothing dramatic, I’m afraid. Why? Were you hoping to come in here to save the damsel?”

“I was hoping, yes,” Bond replied, and Vesper could believe him. 

“Sorry to disappoint you,” she said, smiling, and Bond gave a very convincing sigh.

“I suppose I can wait,” he said, before that smile returned. “There’s still time.”

He left her alone, and Vesper found herself staring at the spot where he had been standing for several seconds after he had vanished from it. She realised she still had that teasing half-smile on her lips and she let it fade, reaching over and shutting the tap off. She should be getting ready – she had so much to do, with her hair and her makeup still yet to be done properly, and she had her notes to go over one last time before the show really started, though of course she knew that really, it had started some time ago. She was huddled backstage reading her lines as though they would help her, when for all she knew there had been a completely different script written that she just hadn’t been told about. She wondered about Bond again as she moved back though to her own room, thinking about how often he held other lives in the balance and marvelling at how he managed to live with it. She only had one life in her hands right now, as dramatic as it sounded – but it was true. She knew these were the kind of people to keep their word when it came to threats, and they had told her in no uncertain terms what would happen to Yusef if she messed up. It was a heavy weight to carry, and really, she didn’t know how she was still standing.

She sat back in front of the mirror and managed to get the other earring out, then let her hair down, getting to work drying it properly. It would take a lot of taming after that, but she was glad for the distraction and she always enjoyed getting ready for evenings, even if they were going to be something utterly boring like a work dinner. She found herself wishing that was all it was this time, envying her past self for only having a little bit of boredom to worry about. She remembered sitting at her dresser at home, drying her hair in exactly the same way, glancing into the mirror every so often to see how it was coming along, except this time she looked up and saw an empty hotel room staring back at her and at home she had looked up to see Yusef lounging on their bed, fiddling with her Rubik’s cube that he still hadn’t managed to beat her time on. She would watch him puzzle over it for a few seconds before he realised she was looking at him, and then he would catch her eye and she would laugh and he would laugh back and tell her not to look, he was embarrassed, she was putting him off. Every time she caught his eye she would wish more and more that she had nowhere to go that evening, that she could take her evening clothes off and replace them with her pyjamas, that the two of them could curl up in front of the television instead and eat takeaway and watch nonsense.

Christ, she missed him more than anything. What was she doing in this fancy place, surrounded by all this luxury? She just wanted her little flat, and Yusef, and the neighbour’s cat that would sometimes crawl up onto their balcony to meow for extra food. It wasn’t much to ask, was it?

Something connected in her brain then, and she paused, holding the hair dryer out to the side slightly to avoid her face. She stared at herself in the mirror, seeing how her face had gone slightly pale, her eyes wide. She tried to grab onto the something before it left her, feeling as though she had just woken up and found herself chasing a dream that had been dissolving before she was even fully aware that it had been there. Finally she placed it, and she shook her head, trying to tell herself that she was being stupid, that she was stressed and paranoid and seeing answers where there were none. She turned the dryer back to her hair and continued to comb it through with her fingers, rougher than she had been doing so before. 

They had been talking one evening, when Vesper had had the time off and she had been doing what she loved to do the most – wasting time in front of the television, curled up against Yusef while he sat with his arm around her. They had only been paying half their attention to whatever had been playing – some reality cooking show with a lot of yelling – and had been talking instead, when Yusef had said something to her that at the time had been hurtful but now seemed to take on so much more. 

She had been talking about how, if she had it her way, she would do nothing else but this. He, for some reason, had decided to take her seriously, warning her that there was more to life than relationships; that she shouldn’t let herself get too loved up.

“What if something happened to me?” he had asked her, and Vesper had frowned. It hadn’t been where she had wanted the conversation to go.

“Well,” she had said. “I would be upset, obviously. I would be devastated. But I would move on, if that’s what you’re worried about. I wouldn’t spend the rest of my life utterly useless. I’d grieve, for however you left, for whatever happened, and then I would move on. The same as most people do.”

She had wanted to defend herself further, wanted to remind him that as a child she had witnessed her mother’s murder and her father’s suicide and she had grown up and done pretty well for herself, thank you very much. She held her tongue because the conversation had already gone way off topic, and she couldn’t be bothered fanning the flames. Frustration had clawed at her, and she had turned defiantly back to the television, hoping that would be the end of it.

Yusef had had other ideas.

“Would you do anything for me?” he had asked, and Vesper had snorted.

“Probably not.”

“What do you mean by that?” Yusef had asked, playfully offended, but something had sounded hollow. Vesper had chosen to ignore it: strike number one against trusting her instincts.

“Alright, I would do _most_ things for you,” she had said, trying to replicate the playfulness. “But I do hope you’re not gearing yourself up to ask me something awful.”

“Of course not,” Yusef had said, and he kissed the top of her head. 

“So, what about you, then?” Vesper had asked, turning around to look up at him. “Would you do anything for me? If something dramatic happened, would you rush to my aid?”

“Maybe,” Yusef had said, shrugging. “Within reason. I don’t need you, really.”

That had been a shock – Vesper had sat up, turning around and twisting free of his arms, unable to hide the hurt on her face.

“Well, that’s a nasty thing to say, don’t you think?” she had asked, and Yusef had pulled it back quickly but not quickly enough to stop Vesper’s mind from latching on to the strangeness of the comment: strike two there, because she had wanted to believe him and so she had ignored it.

“I didn’t mean that I wouldn’t be sad,” Yusef said, before giving a quick laugh. “Christ, that sounded bad, didn’t it? I’m sorry, darling. I was dozing off and I guess I made a mistake. I’m always worse with English when I’m tired.”

“Alright,” Vesper had said, hesitantly. It was Yusef’s go-to excuse, she thought – he always said that when he had insulted her. Vesper was bilingual herself and had never done such a thing, no matter how tired she had been, but hadn’t Yusef been a teenager when he had moved to Britain? Maybe it was different, if you spend a chunk of your life only speaking one language. 

“I meant to say that I wouldn’t do absolutely anything, because it’s like what you said earlier – I would grieve but I would move on. I wouldn’t want to have to do anything terribly awful. I don’t know how to explain it – I don’t think I could break the law too much, for example.”

“I have no idea how that might come up,” Vesper had said, still sounding cold.

“It’s hypothetical,” Yusef had said easily, navigating the tense waters with expertise. “I wouldn’t want to get myself killed, either, because what use would that be? Maybe I’m selfish.”

“Perhaps,” Vesper had said. “A little.”

“You know I didn’t mean it like that, don’t you?” Yusef had asked, giving her that big-eyed stare he always gave her, and Vesper had wanted to tell him exactly what she thought but she was exhausted and this was her first day off in a while and she just wanted to relax. Strike three. She told him she believed him.

Looking at herself now, her own tense reflection staring back at her, Vesper couldn’t pinpoint why she had remembered the exchange in such detail. She put the hairdryer down and got to work pinning and styling her hair, having to force herself to slow down on several occasional as she nearly tugged it all out of place or poked herself in the eye with a clip. She was thinking as though the incident had proven Yusef’s guilt – but of _what_? What could he possibly be doing? He had been kidnapped and all she was worried about was whether or not he was pulling the mother of all pranks because he had wanted to test her? Was that what she thought? Or did she think he had found someone else and run off because he really didn’t care about her, and that conversation had been her major clue that she was living with a total arsehole? She didn’t think it was that, either.

“Christ, you _spoke_ to them,” she muttered to herself, remembering the video clips she had been sent, the photographs, the phone calls where she had been able to talk to Yusef only briefly. He had sounded so terrified. He had urged her not to do anything stupid. He had begged her to help but only if it was safe – surely a nod to that conversation where he had said he would have exercised the same caution? She had no idea what she was thinking anymore. She was doubting her own boyfriend. Was it innocent? Did she just not want to believe this was happening? Well, it was happening, and she thought it would do her good to get a grip on herself.

“Your boyfriend has been kidnapped,” she whispered to herself. “You are here because you are going to get him back unhurt. You are not going to think about what that means. You are just going to do it. And you know, deep down, he would do the same for you. Stop being such a cow about it and get on with it!”

She would say strike four, but truth be told, she had no idea how many strikes that was now. She pushed back the latest surge of uncertainty and put all her concentration into fixing up her hair. She wouldn’t think like that of him. He wouldn’t doubt her if it had happened to her; she owed him the same. She trusted him. She had to remember that.


End file.
